


forest eyes

by beansprout



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, fox prompto, witch ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beansprout/pseuds/beansprout
Summary: Written for the Promnis zine "Found beneath the stars"!When Fox Prompto's home was destroyed by hunters, he didn't expect to be rescued by a green-eyed, kind-handed witch. The problem now was to find a way to express to Ignis his gratitude.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	forest eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first zine piece and I'm so happy to finally be able to share it with you all! This zine was very special because 1) PROMNIS and 2) There are so many writing pieces compared to other zine. The experience of participating in a zine was amazing and I'm so glad to be a part of it. I hope you enjoy my story as much as I'd enjoyed writing it.

_This is a disaster_ , Prompto thought, shrinking a little further behind the hedge. It wasn’t as if he was at risk to be seen, however. The man Prompto was watching simply picked up his offering of pheasant, turned it over to check if there was any note, gave a cursory glance around the garden, then turned to go back inside, closing the door behind him. 

Prompto had been following Gladio’s advice for a week now and it wasn’t working at all. For all that he lived among humans, the tattooed centaur was soooo inept about relationships. Still, giving gifts made sense, right? Everyone liked a secret admirer! Except the man Prompto wanted to court was Ignis, the village healer, who received this kind of offering all the time. Bread, cakes, pastries, ham, poultry – these things just showed up on his doorsteps as payment or tokens of gratitude. Why would he even notice Prompto’s gifts apart from the others?

Prompto didn’t know what else to do, though. Human customs were a mystery to him. Since he was born, he’d mostly stayed in the forest. While his kin liked to go into the villages in their fox form to steal corn-fattened chickens and chewy smoked hams, he made do with his catch. He was nervous about bothering the humans, and he was proven right when his cousins’ annoying habits turned back to bite them all in the behinds.

One day the villagers had decided to call in hunters and trappers to deal with the foxes. Pests, they called them, to be rooted out and exterminated. For days, men wearing skins stinking of blood and smoke trampled all over Prompto’s forest. Snow was churned into mud under so many restless feet; the scent of the pine turned into that of burnt resin. The huntsmen had many ruses. They had tough rope and soft metal, made into traps that could saw your ankle off or strangle you in three seconds flat. They had little red confections that exploded deep inside your burrows, filling it with smoke. They had dogs that followed you to your lair, so they could point their sticks that barked at you and conjure fire.

From the way they had cooed and cheered at the pelts of his kin, Prompto knew that if one of them laid eyes on him, he was dead. He used to envy his cousins their fiery coats, but the hunters were much more sanguine about the rare white ones. If they were to see Prompto’s golden fur, he was sure there would be no escape. 

He couldn’t be more right.

Prompto was lucky that the hunter hadn’t wanted to shoot. The damnable coat, which got him in trouble in the first place, was protecting him, but it wouldn’t be for long. As he ran with his heart in his throat, foam and blood speckling the corner of his mouth, Prompto found himself wondering if it’d be easier to just accept defeat. Surely there was no sense in enduring the hunt day after day, running for his life while feeling like he was going to die the whole time. 

When the trap closed around his ankle, Prompto was almost relieved. _I’m here. Just come get me already._

Prompto straightened up and stepped out from his hiding place. In human form, he looked just like the average village boy. Perhaps a shade too pale, but freckles were common enough here. For the rest, Prompto made sure to hide his bright hair and fox ears under a shapeless knit cap. The long coat was more than enough to cover his tail, but it was no good against the cold, not as good as Prompto’s own fur. Dejectedly, he plucked at his mittens, blowing on naked fingers to warm them up. Was it normal for them to be so numb and red?

“You’ve been out here for a while.” He heard the voice right behind him, which made him jump-dive right into the hedge. A silence followed, but the man finished his sentence. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?”

Somehow Ignis had left the cottage without Prompto noticing and came around to sneak up on him. Even after having watched him for so long, Prompto was still struck dumb by the sight of his face. Granted, the first time he hadn’t been in any condition to speak either, as he’d been in his fox form and delirious with pain. The trap had bitten deep into his ankle and his blood had near emptied over the muddy snow. Trapped and desperate as he had been, looking up at Ignis, Prompto hadn’t felt any fear. How could a man with the moonlight in his skin and the forest in his eyes be anything less than wise and kind?

When he gingerly accepted Ignis’ hand to pull him out of the hedge, Prompto recognized the fingers – so deceptively slender yet strong, they were the same that had pried the trap open to free him. Deftly, Ignis had staunched the blood with a sweet-smelling poultice and wrapped bandages around his injured leg while murmuring soft reassurances in Prompto’s ear. Prompto found himself yearning for the feel of Ignis’ arms around him, like when he’d carried Prompto into his woodshed to hide from the hunters, the pine and cedar concealing Prompto’s scent from the noses of the dogs. Or the way he’d patted Prompto’s forehead in praise when he licked his bowl of porridge clean, as if it was a hardship to finish something so delicious. 

“Come now,” Ignis said, in a tone that didn’t allow any protest. “You must come inside. I have a good fire going and stew cooking. Someone had been dropping off all kinds of fresh games, more pheasants and rabbits than I could eat.” The smile that Ignis gave him definitely had a teasing curl to it. “You must share this bounty with me.” 

It was a strange thing to step into a human place. Prompto expected the human scent to wrap around him, and it did – wafting up from the wicker hamper behind the half-closed door and the still-warm quilt thrown over the plush chair. But Ignis’ place also smelled of herbs and fruits, little spindly bundles hanging from the rafters or woven into clever wreaths. Dried, they smelled nothing like nature, but still soothing and familiar. It made Prompto uncoil himself a little as he looked around, and when Ignis urged him to, he sat down without putting up much of a fight. 

Ignis had promised stew, but he lied. He wasn’t content with serving up only a bowl thick with vegetables and chunks of meat. As Prompto breathed in the steam, Ignis placed in front of him one of the baked buns, golden and gleaming with fat, from his kitchen counter. Cream poured smoothly from a floral pitcher into a small dish, on which he sprinkled cinnamon sugar, for Prompto to dip his bun in. A glass of milk rounded out the fare, the liquid so rich it sloshed heavily when Prompto picked it up for a sip. 

“Do you feed every stranger this well?” Prompto asked. Even as he conjured some cheek, he was already tucking into the stew, devouring the meat and marveling at the spices soaked into every fiber. Though most delicious was the company of Ignis, who sat across from him with his cheek on his hand and chuckled. 

“Technically, you’re not a stranger. You gave me your name, and you know mine. And you need plenty of food to help you recover.”

Prompto stopped mid-chew to stare. It was a wonder that nothing had fallen out from his mouth and plopped onto his stolen clothes. “You knew?” he asked, shrinking back sheepishly. He wiped his fingers from the napkin and, responding to some strange compulsion, pulled off his cap, letting golden hair and fox ears spring free. “How long…?”

“Since your gift of the salmon,” Ignis replied. He seemed distracted, his eyes busy taking in Prompto from head to toe. Under his deep forest gaze, Prompto could only blush. “There was a golden hair stuck to the basket and I use it for a simple divination. I’d hoped it was you. I took care of you to the best of my abilities. When you left – and I knew you must, eventually. Still I couldn’t help the doubt that I had done something wrong.” 

That got Prompto nearly leaping to his feet. “You didn’t!” He exclaimed so forcefully it was a miracle that baked bun bits weren’t spraying everywhere from his mouth. “I just—I had to see my family. So many of them were killed.” He paused, hanging his head. His mouth, filled with sweetness earlier, suddenly was choked with coal. “I knew it already, but I had to see for myself. I’d hoped I was wrong, but I was right. There’s no one left.”

The shadow of a frown passed over Ignis’ features. In that moment, he looked kinder than ever, and it made Prompto felt smaller and more pathetic. The kernel of sadness that’d been lodged inside his heart since he’d seen his destroyed home expanded until it choked him. Tears rolled down his face without Prompto quite knowing how they’d gotten there, and he shoved his fist into his mouth to staunch a sob. 

The next thing he knew, Ignis’ fingers were wrapped around his hand. Prompto was still sobbing as Ignis gently guided his hand away and then pulled him into a hug.

Now that he had no other need of his hands, Prompto just fisted them into the front of Ignis’ shirt as he cried against his chest. He might have sniffled very loudly, even screamed. He was reasonably certain he’d gotten tears and snot all over Ignis’ nice shirt. And yet Ignis never let him go, his arms just firm enough around Prompto to hold him together. When Prompto’s shaking ceased and his sobs had become shaky little hiccups, Ignis moved his hand to card his fingers through Prompto’s hair. 

“You poor, marvelous thing,” he was saying, his voice soft. “You lost your entire clan, and still you found it in your heart to be so generous to me?”

Prompto sniffled. He didn’t want to admit the truth, that he had probably gone on the hunt for those fancy games only for distraction. He only wanted a reason to linger around Ignis’ home to catch a glimpse of him, because the glint of sunlight in those forest eyes reminded him of peaceful times in the home he had lost, and the image spread like a balm over his hurting soul. 

Maybe Prompto was even bribing him. He was buttering Ignis up so the man would find it in his heart to be kind to him one more time. Sometimes in this lifetime Prompto would work up the courage to confess all this to Ignis, but not right now. All that he managed to get out was, “I’m not that generous.” 

Ignis was guiding him to the couch, sitting him down. Prompto sat on his tail, yelped, sheepishly moved it aside, and finally sat still as Ignis pulled the quilt over his lap. He knelt in front of Prompto then reached up – and it didn’t even occur to Prompto to flinch away. Instead, he leaned into Ignis’ hand, closing his eyes as the man brushed the last of the tears from his cheeks. 

“Prompto,” he said, and Prompto felt a shudder of warmth run down his spine, and he was sure that nothing was more right than the sound of his name on Ignis’ lips. “I can’t bring your home back. But I can offer you a place to stay and heal. If I can help in any way, I will. Will you stay with me and let me take care of you?”

Prompto looked again into earnest green eyes, and he didn’t even have to think. He nodded. His home might have been gone, but he was lucky enough to have a chance to make another home here.


End file.
